


lay me down

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Misgendering, Non-Binary Klaus Hargreeves, Not maliciously though, Prostitution, They/Them Pronouns for Klaus Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Dave isn't this kind of a man. Really, he isn't. He knew tons of people who had done this, although perhaps not with the kind of people Dave would prefer, and they all suggested it after this new job promotion, and, well-It was too late to back out now. A person detached from the group of equally scantily-clad people under the street light, heels clicking as they walked over to his car and leaned down. Bloodshot, kohl-lined green eyes glinted in the darkness."So," they say, "thirty for an hour."Dave really isn't this kind of a man.
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 19
Kudos: 270





	lay me down

**Author's Note:**

> Aka I watched Pose on Netflix and fell in love with it all, and wrote this drabble inspired by it.

Dave isn't this kind of a man. Really, he isn't.

He knows tons of people who were, however. (He wasn't sure why well-dressed business men were regarded in such high esteem when half of the people in his building were twitching for a fix and had a tendency to disappear from their wives for a night to drive by a street corner.) Even if Dave was that kind of a man, he wouldn't be interested in the same kind of people as his colleagues would be. Not that they knew that. But still; Dave didn’t do this kind of thing. His own real relationships were often fleeting and poor, and he was beginning to doubt he could ever actually have a real relationship now, and sometimes because of that his thoughts might stray to this idea, but he never actually went through with it.

He tried, years ago, to justify it by telling himself those kinds of people were dirty, but he couldn’t find it in himself to try and hate a group of people that were evidently struggling much more than he was in life just because he was uncomfortable with his own identity. At least they weren’t so afraid. Plus, Dave knew well enough that had his life been a little different, he could have been in the same position, and he simply couldn’t pretend he was okay with judging people like that, even if he weren’t similar in a lot of ways to them.

His colleagues were often confused as to how he wasn’t married yet - how he didn’t even have a girlfriend yet, considering how he seemed to be a pretty damn good guy with a very good paying job, if a bit of baggage thanks to certain family issues. Dave wouldn’t dare tell them it was because he had no interest in women. He was afraid that his secret would come to light one day anyway, but no one seemed to pick up on him acting odd whenever the topic of relationships or sex came up. 

If they didn’t badger him about relationships, they did often discuss the idea of just hooking up with some random women in a bar, or, if nothing else, just “throw some money at any of them on a corner.” 

Dave wasn’t that kind of a man.

Truthfully, Dave wasn’t sure what kind of a man he was, because despite how much he told himself that, he still found himself in his car, driving laps around one specific road where a group of people stood under a street light, sporting trashy looking clothes with feathers and fishnets and high heels, short skirts and low cut dresses and wild makeup and untamed hair. 

He had no clue what he was doing. His heart was pounding rapidly beneath his chest and his hands were sweaty on his steering wheel. He had just gotten a promotion at his work. This would be a nice way to celebrate. Right? Or perhaps he was just trying to prove something to himself, but he had no idea. 

He stops his car on the street and stares at the group. There are four of them, chatting amongst themselves, a couple smoking. They all look very feminine, which is - fine. Nice. Dave likes femine people. 

The group all flick glances at his car, though don’t stare for long and continue to chat. Probably waiting to see if he’ll go up and talk to one of them, or roll down his window and gesture one over. Is that what he’s supposed to do? Dave wouldn’t know. He isn’t that kind of a man.

God, this is a mistake. A huge fucking mistake; he needs to leave right now. He can’t believe he even did this, doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

Too late. One person from the group turns, stamps on their cigarette butt with the toe of their foot, and wanders over to his car. They have on a long fur coat, white fur, making them stand out a little in the darkness, and it swishes around their shins and swallows their thin frame. It’s cold, he thinks. They probably need it. Especially considering they are only wearing a short, short skirt beneath it - black, it flares out by their thighs - and lacy red bralette, along with an assortment of jewellery. He wonders how they can walk in those heels. 

They come to stop by his care and bends over at the hips so they are eye level, and then they lift their fingers and knock the window. Their eyes are green, and bloodshot, and lined with bags and dark makeup. Dave, stupidly, rolls down the window.

“So,” they say, words tumbling from red-painted lips. “Thirty for an hour.” Their hand (with black nailpolish) rests on the door. “Sound good?”

Dave swallows. What the fuck is he doing? He nods. The person grins, beams at him, opens the door and slides in. They light another cigarette. Dave doesn’t smoke - not anymore, anyway. Quit a year ago, but still does it every now and then when he’s particularly stressed. He’s tempted to ask for a hit of it.

“So, what’re the plans, big boy? Am I staying here, moving to the backseat, or are you taking me somewhere?” 

Closer, Dave realises the person is a man. His voice is soft, pitched a little higher, and he wonders if he is doing that on purpose. His mind is reeling.

“I - uh-”

“First time?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow at him, and Dave swallows down and nods. The man - the prostitute, sitting in his car - eyes him for a moment, then leans a little closer. “Great,” he says. “I love first-timers. How about this.” His hand rests on his thigh, too high. “There’s a motel a couple streets down. Grab us a room, and I’ll make your night.”

Dave has made a colossal fucking mistake. The hand on his thigh stays there, running up and down absentmindedly. The man keeps talking about nothing in particular, and Dave isn’t sure it actually does anything for his nerves.

He parks, buys a room, and the man follows him to it, chatting all the way up until they are inside. He closes the door behind him, locks it, and begins to slide his fur coat off. In this light, without that huge coat on, Dave can see him better, and he isn’t sure that’s a good thing.

He’s taller than Dave with those heels on, maybe without them, too, and his skin is waxy and pale. His ribs show with each breath he takes, and his cheeks are hollow, and when he walks Dave notices little pinprick scars that catch the light on the inside of his right arm. Dave wonders how high he is. His makeup is smudged. He wonders if he knows.

“So,” the man says, wandering over, swaying his hips more than is necessary. Dave doesn’t think it makes him look as seductive as he thinks he thinks it does. “Let’s start simple; what’s your name, sir?”

He hates the way he says that - sir. “Dave,” he mutters out, and it earns him a grin. A hand rests on his chest and he looks down at him.

“What a lovely name, Dave. Call me whatever you want,” he says, and starts walking forwards again, pushing Dave gently towards the bed. “How do you want me to start, then, Dave? I’m very good at everything, don’t be afraid.” His hands run down, down, down to the belt holding his pants up, and begin to pull it undone, and he ducks his head down to ghost his lips over his neck. 

Dave jerks back a little, and the man pulls his hands away, giving him an odd look. “Okay,” he says easily. “We can start with me, then.” His hands go behind himself, unclasping the bralette he wears, letting it slide down his arms. God, he’s skinny, and Dave feels horrible. He can’t even control his mouth.

“Skirt,” he states the obvious, then grimaces. “Why - why are you wearing a skirt, if you’re a man?”

The prostitute pauses, fingers hooked in the hem of said skirt. Green eyes blink at him. He doesn’t mean it to sound as judgemental as it probably did, but the words are out there now. “I’m not,” he says. “I’m not a man.”

“But-” Dave pauses, frowning. “You’re transgender?” He asks instead. He knows people who are - not personally, but he knows they exist. His colleagues have said bad things about them. Dave can’t help but feel even worse.

“I’m not a woman either,” he says, and Dave isn’t following. “I’m neither. I’m nonbinary.” They stare at Dave for several moments, a flicker of something in their eyes - hurt, maybe - but they cover it back up quickly. “This isn’t about me. I can put the bra back on and keep the skirt on, if you like that better.”

“No,” says Dave, shaking his head. “No, no, just - fuck-”

They don’t look very impressed with him. Bored, rather. “Makes no difference if I suck your dick,” they state. “You don’t have to fuck me.”

Dave doesn’t want to do either of those things. He sits down on the bed, head in his hands, and says, “I’m sorry. I don’t - do these things. I don’t want to.”

They stand there awkwardly, staring at him on the bed before reaching down to pick up their bralette and clasp it back on. He hears them sigh heavily and he realises he doesn’t even know their name. The bed dips as they sit down on it, crossing one long leg over the other.

“Why are you here, then?” They ask curiously. “If you obviously don’t want to be here.”

“I don’t know,” Dave admits, shaking his head. “I - I got a promotion.”

“Ah,” says the person. “Well, congrats. Coworkers bully you into this?”

“They… mentioned it,” he admits, cringing.

“No better way to celebrate than getting your dick sucked, I guess. Maybe coke.” They sigh, tipping their head back. 

“I don’t do coke, either.”

“Really? Fuck, what _do_ you do?” They shake their head, eying him as if he’s weird, which perhaps he is to them. “Oh well. Whatever. Look, I’d hate to be an ass, as much as I love talking I’m gonna have to ask you to take me back. I need money, and it’s not like we’re going to fuck.”

Dave blinks, turning to stare at them. Then, because he’s an idiot, he digs his wallet out, ignores the way they stare greedily at it, and digs out a few notes before holding them out. 

“Uh. What?” They say, blinking up at him. 

“You - you look like you need it, and I’m wasting your time,” he says apologetically, and after a moment of hesitation, they reach out and take it. Dave doesn’t watch them put it away. They flop back down onto the bed, stretching. 

“Alright then, Dave. Where do you work?”

“Huh?”

“I’m talking to you. If we’re not going to fuck, I might as well try and give you some therapy. Is it the prostitute thing that’s creeping you out, the fact that I have a dick, or the fact that I’m not a man or a woman? Or all three? You’ve been very non-violent for someone who’s that creeped out.”

“I’m - what, no,” says Dave, frowning. “I’m not - creeped out. I just - don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Ah, so it’s the prostitute thing.”

“Plus,” says Dave. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The person doesn’t respond; their eyes burn into him. Then they shrug and look away, splaying a hand out over their stomach.

“Look, you seem like a real nice, smart guy, Dave. I know it probably sucks, not being able to come out in case you get fired-”

“What?”

“And I mean, it still sucks being out, as you can see-”

“I’m not-”

“Dave,” they say, sitting up. “Do you think I give a shit? So what, you’re not straight, and I’m sitting here in a lacy thong and bra. I don’t think I can really judge you here. Anyway, as I was saying - you don’t need to be so scared of it. There are places you can go that are full of different kinds of people, and it doesn’t matter.”

Dave can’t help but notice the way they smile a bit. Dave wonders what it feels like, to be in a place and be accepted. To not feel scared.

“How did you know?” He asks. They hum, leaning back again.

“I kind of always knew, I think. Liked playing dress up and with my sister’s dolls and shit growing up. Dear ol’ Daddy caught wind when I actually started thinking about labels, kicked me out at fifteen, and met some lovely people like me. Decided that I couldn’t get much lower than I already was, and I was fed up with feeling like I had to hide myself. So I didn’t.” A blush grows over their cheeks as they realise what they just said. “Blah blah blah, sob story, blah blah blah. I don’t think I’m the best person to talk to about this, considering,” they gesture themselves up and down, “but whatever floats your boat.”

Dave just nods, staring down at his hands. A few moments of silence stretch out between them, and Dave wonders what their life actually is like. He’s jealous, suddenly, of the confidence they have, and how carefree they seem, even if the shadows under their eyes and the bruises on their skin might say otherwise. Would he trade his life, take their struggles, if he could also have their confidence? He’s not sure. 

He isn’t sure he wants to know either.

“Things are changing,” they add, a little quieter. “Slowly, yeah, but things are changing. It won’t be like this forever, and I might not be contributing to the movement much by standing on a street corner, but hey. At least I piss off the homophobes and transphobes, and that’s good enough for me.”

Dave snorts a little, though it feels wrong to do that. He runs a hand through his hair, risks a glance back. “What’s your name?” He asks, and they stare at him, a little shocked.

“Angel,” they answer. 

“That your real name?”

A toothy grin. “No. It’s Klaus. Doesn’t sound nearly as sexy, though.”

Dave snorts at that again, and then he lies down. There’s still space between them.

“You got a family, Dave?” Asks Klaus, voice quiet. 

“No,” he answers. Klaus hums. 

“I’ll have a daughter, one day.”

“You will?”

“Mhmm. Don’t know how, or when, but… I will. If I ever clean my act up, but… yeah.” Dave doesn’t point out the fact that they can’t, but he’s sure Klaus already knows that. They turn their head to stare at him. “One day,” they repeat, eyes burning into him. “Because I’ll be able to, one day.”

Dave wants to look away, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

There’s a fire burning in Klaus’ eyes that Dave wishes he shared. He wonders how they can be so sure of that, of themselves, when they have undoubtedly gone through so much shit, while Dave, with a good paying job and steady life, is so damn afraid all the time.

Klaus smiles at him, and it feels real, and then they stand up to fetch their cigarettes from their jacket. They hold one between their lips, staining it, and hold the pack out to Dave. He takes one, and they light it for him. 

“Take it from lil’ old me, Davey, thing’s’ll get better. I’m sure of it. Especially if there are people like you out there.”

Dave blinks at them, and they simply shrug. Their eyes flick to the clock that may or may not be broken. “Hate to be a downer, but I really have to ask you to take me back.”

Dave blinks, reeling, but he nods nonetheless. “Sure,” he mutters, and he does. They get back in the car, and he drives back to the street corner, and Klaus lingers in the car for a moment, fiddling with their skirt.

“Uh, thanks. You know, for the money, and for not fucking me,” they say, and Dave can only blink at them. They lean over, swift and quick, and press their lips to his, and then they’re gone, sliding out of the car.

“Klaus,” he calls before he can stop himself, and Klaus pauses just before they can close the car door. Swallowing, Dave forges on. “That - that place, you mentioned. Where is it?”

A smile tugs Klaus’ lips. “Come here on Friday and I’ll show you where,” they say, wrapping their coat around themselves. Despite himself, Dave’s own lips tug upwards and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I’ll come back.”

Klaus smiles. “See you then, Davey. You’ll like it there.”

They wiggle their fingers at him in a wave, then scurry off to join the others underneath the street light. Dave sinks back into his seat, exhaling slowly, and then he begins to drive away again. 

He doesn’t doubt he’ll like that place, if it’s somewhere Klaus likes. His hands still tremble a little, but maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing to happen to him. Maybe he can have somewhere, with someone, where he doesn’t have to be afraid, until that day comes that Klaus spoke about so surely.


End file.
